Caved In
by Trekkie Lizard
Summary: An OC with a past works with the Vegas CSI and comes across something the cops won't believe. SPNCSI Crossover
1. Beginning

**_A/N_**: _Sorry if some of the chapters are really short here, but it wasn't written in chapter form. I just sort of … wrote. It started as a small story in a spiral, handwritten. Now it's expanded to 50+ pages and I've decided to type it all up for your enjoyment. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! _

**Chapter One: Beginning**

It was one hundred years ago, the nearing end of the gold mining popularity in the West. The Comstock Load was perhaps depleted, or nearing depletion as were many other popular sites in the surrounding areas. In the desert sands outside of booming and corrupt Las Vegas, there was still a mine. Not for gold, but silver ore was discovered here. Cheap labor and even cheaper lumber increased the profit over and over again. Until it became dry. Like a still well apart from a deep underground spring, the barely known Tucker Mine had stopped flowing in less than a decade. Politics and new technology came, leaving the poor miners in the dust. Literally. That was the great cave-in of August 5, 1906. And the mind was forgotten through time and space, with new sands churning and hiding its barred entrance from view.

- Supernatural –

The persistent, piercing tone of a simple cell phone sliced through the dark hotel room, waiting to be answered. Bed sheets tossed themselves aside as a pale hand stretched out, reaching for the blue and silver contraption on the nearby table.

A cranky, half-asleep voice yawned into the receptor, "Hello?"

Instantly, the woman sat upright in the rented bed, her loose locks of deep, brick red hair falling forward into her tanned, round face. Chocolate brown eyes open and alert as she listened with baited breath to the hushed tones over the phone. No more sleep for her, it seemed. Bright pink toenails slipped from the covers and into nearby white socks as the phone balanced between ear and shoulder delicately. Old jeans were snatched from a chair and leapt into quickly. She had done this before. Her suntanned arms hid inside a jean jacket as she hung up the phone without another word. Two bags and a pair for keys disappeared with her through the slamming door.

Moments later, the shriek of spinning tires echoed through the quiet still of twilight, vanishing onto the darkened road.

---

Dirt and pebbles slapped the undercarriage of the dark blue 1988 Corvette Coupe as the dusty tires glided along the unpaved road in the cold Nevada desert. There were other tire tracks to follow, the party was up ahead. As the Chevy pulled alongside a newer SUV, the woman from earlier stepped out; her red hair successfully restrained by a fuzzy hair band. She tugged her jacket closer to herself before reaching for a faded tan back with a large flap.

A metal chain around her neck held some sort of identification that allowed her to slip underneath the crisp yellow and black tape that declared the area a crime scene. Her grip tightened around the leather handle of the bag, and with a brief intake of the dry desert air, she proclaimed herself to be one Dr. Elizabeth Tucker.

An older man, with graying hair, spun on his heel at her voice. His clean-shaven face broke into a cheery smile, despite the gloomy atmosphere. "Elizabeth, thank you for coming. I think we may need your help on this one," he stepped aside as he spoke, to reveal the victim of the scene.

There, before them, was a mummified corpse, his right arm extended forever. Just behind him was what was left of what appeared to be a mine entrance. The skilled red head nodded briskly, taking everything in, "Looks like it was a good thing I was in town, Gil."

The elder man nodded as well and mentioned something about a frightened hiker that had called it in. No doubt the caller had been scared out of his mind, because normally this sort of thing showed up on the History Channel, not the middle of the Nevada desert.

Elizabeth took some photographs with a camera from her bag before the coroner disappeared with the body. She helped him slowly, carefully load it into the black van for transport before turning and scowling at the entrance of the mine. Something wasn't right here. Aside from the familiar creepy feeling she had gotten the moment she walked over. No, though, Liz saw something else – or the lack thereof, and she snapped several more photographs.


	2. BackUp

_**A/N: **Thanks for the lovely reviews! Here's yet another chapter. Please continue to read and review, thanks again! _

**Chapter Two: Back-Up**

Things weren't adding up yet, so Elizabeth pulled out her cell phone and sent a text message to someone she knew, trusted. Turning back to the old boards Liz shrugged, "This mine used to be boarded up – nailed shit. But those boards are missing, and I think recently. We'll have to run some models, but this mine has been hidden for years, hence the mummification of our victim; he would've been the closest to the entrance – before he was moved." She was just sharing her opinion so far, leaving out what really happened.

Another man walked up, as if ready to go into the mysterious mine. The tall guy with short, dark hair and a chiseled jaw line nodded at Elizabeth's assessment before walking closer to the entrance. Putting on a hard hat with one hand and turning on a flashlight with another, he smirked, "Anything I should watch out for?" His voice had a not-so-surprising Texan draw to it, and his black CSI vest said he was "Stokes".

"Bad beams, cave-ins, mummies. That sort of thing," Elizabeth shrugged, not being able to actually work the crime scene herself. Those days were gone, now she just gave her expert, archaeological opinion occasionally. Like now. But it didn't prevent her from showing up and making suggestions once in a while. It was another way she helped. And Liz loved to help.

- Meanwhile –

A tall, thin frame hovered over an old PC computer in some library, bony fingers pounding on the keyboard with speed and accuracy. His free hand ran through the shaggy brown hairdo he was currently sporting as another search results page came onto the dull screen. The man's other hand continued writing notes just as a cell phone vibrated on the desk beside the computer.

Picking it up, he sighed, seeing it was a text message. At first, the number seemed unfamiliar and hazel eyes paused on the screen. Then the twinkle of recognition and curiosity lit up his eyes as he quickly pushed the appropriate button to read the strange message. "Mine, Vegas, desert, info, call," were the only things it said, and he had to smirk at the broken grammar. Obviously his friend had been in a hurry.

Time to work on his new priority.

---

Back in the desert, Elizabeth stood just outside the entrance, waiting for word from the CSI or her friend she had sent a text message to for more information. It was easier to have him look it up while she waited on the scene. The activity around the crime scene had died down quite a bit. Only herself and Nick Stokes were left out here now, because Gil Grissom went with his evidence and the police officer left with the witness.

"Carry on my wayward son" by Kansas started playing out of nowhere and Liz answered it immediately. "Sammy, hey," she smiled into the phone, knowing he hated that nickname.

"It's Sam," the slightly agitated masculine voice snapped, calming enough to actually share the wanted information, "Bad construction and a freak thunderstorm led to a muddy cave-in in 1906. Dozens of miners were trapped. But here's the kicker: the owner knew about the storm. He tried to warn them, but the foreman killed him just outside the entrance. All the guys inside died that day, or soon there after. Mud and rain poured down the ventilation shafts. There's a lot of angry spirits there Lizzy. Be careful."

She paused at what he said, thinking, "What's the name of the mine? Who boarded it up?"

"Lizzy, I don't know how to say this, but it was called Tucker Mine. The owner was your great-grandfather. His foreman boarded it up to hide what he had done," Sam sounded like he was shaking his head on the other end.

A sound from the mine distracted Liz, who immediately hung up on her longtime friend. Unfriendly spirits? And Nick Stokes was down there with them!?


	3. Road Trip

_**A/N: **Someone reviewed and said there was no Sam or Dean in the first two chapters. Sam is in the second one. - nods - Seriously. And, of course, there's some more of them in this one. :) Thanks for the reviews, and keep them coming plz! _

**Chapter Three: Road Trip**

The sound that she had heard sounded like some sort of strange crash, and Elizabeth immediately grabbed her gun from her brown bag and pointed it at the entrance before calling into the dark opening, "Nicky? Are you a'right?" Her Southern accent seemed more prominent now as she was worried for his life. Sam mentioned some seriously unfriendly spirits here. Nick could be in serious trouble.

But before Liz could step into the mine, Nick stumbled out, covered in what looked like mud. It hadn't rained in weeks, though. "I'm fine," he huffed, trying to brush himself off slightly. Nick managed a puzzled look towards Liz and her hand gun, to which she shrugged and mentioned something about having a permit for it. As she stuffed it into the back of her waistband, Nick sighed and glanced back at the entrance. "If I didn't know any better, it almost felt like someone hit me with a wooden beam. But it was just another miniature cave-in."

If Liz wanted to really fix what was going on here, she was going to need help. "Actually, this guy I went to college with knows a thing or two about mines. It's sort of his hobby, really. I can give him a call," she shrugged, trying to find a good cover for Sam and his brother to be snooping around the mine.

"I'm sure someone from the department can handle it," Nick shook his head, completely not considering it at all.

Liz gave him the best puppy-dog eyes she could, and Nick finally caved, sighing and nodding.

The Winchesters were coming to Vegas. Oh great!

- Meanwhile –

A rickety, old door swung open on its trusted hinges to let a slightly shadowed figure pass through its doorway and into the rotting motel room. Empty beer bottles and other trash were being cleared away by Sam, who had apparently already packed his bags. Something was up, and the shorter, older man arched his brow at the towering 23-year old. "Sam," he started slowly, running a free hand through his extremely short, light brown hair, "what's going on?"

"Dean," Sam turned towards the almost over-flowing trash can, dumping his arm load into it, "want to go to Vegas?"

The other man's haze eyes lit up and he moved to start packing as well. However, something clicked and the older brother spun on his heel to question what Sam had just said. What happened to all the talk about not being able to control his gift and everything? This wasn't about money, or needing a break; business had been slow lately. There was definitely something else in play here; something or someone. But Sammy didn't know anyone in Vegas, did he?

Before Dean could say anything, Sam had caught his brother's look and laughed a little, "No, we're not gambling. Maybe a little, but that's not why we're going. Lizzy needs help. I'll fill you in on the way."

"Help? What … her old five-oh buds snooping around where they shouldn't?" Dean smirked and shook his head before packing his things.

Sam nodded, "Something like that." Both of them knew that Elizabeth used to work with the Crime Lab in Las Vegas. They also both knew that cops never believed in what they dealt with all the time. Well, except that one state trooper, but she had a personal connection, and it ended up not being their kind of gig, just some seriously crazy people.

Once they packed up, the brothers Winchester hit the road to Nevada.


	4. Lab Work

_**A/N: **The next chapter is really long. . I hope you like this one in the meantime. hugs Thanks for all the awesome reviews, everyone! _

**Chapter Four: Lab Work**

Elizabeth Tucker was wearing a visitor's pass on her now-dusty jean jacket as her equally dusty boots clicked down polished halls when she walked. Several people who recognized her nodded and smiled as she passed through the corridors of the top forensics lab in the country. Liz wasn't going to stop here; she was just walking through, as if getting reacquainted with the building. Honestly, she had to assist Dr. Al Robbins, the head coroner and another good friend. Really, they were all friends here. Friendly people.

Turning back towards the elevator, Liz reached out, her short fingernail barely touching the "down" button before her finger made full contact with it. Disappearing within, she smiled as the doors closed her inside and Liz was off to examine the body.

- Morgue –

Walking into the cold room, Liz smiled at the shorter, older man who was perching some glasses on his nose as she approached. "Elizabeth," he smiled, embracing her in a brief hug, "I was so pleased when Greg told me you would be working the case. I don't think I'd want anyone else helping me with a mummy."

He took a step closer to the table; the body was in the same position as before, with its arm outstretched. "Don't mean to rain on your parade, Al, but I'm consulting, not working, on the case. Plus, you may have some more slumber party guests from the mine, if my reliable intel is really reliable," Liz sighed and picked up the end to a small, specialized vacuum.

"So did you call for back up from the mysterious source of yours?" Dr. Robbins asked, arching a gray eyebrow quizzically. He was honestly curious about all the people she knew. Sometimes, she'd make, or receive phone calls she would barely mention in detail, only vaguely refer to. Was it the same people every time?

"As a matter of fact, yes. They're on their way to Vegas. I went to college with them and trust them with my life. Mines are a hobby of theirs, and they said they could help," Liz shrugged at her own explanation before turning the vacuum to the on position and starting to carefully clean the body some more. "C.O.D. Al?" She asked over the noise of the small machine.

He quietly sighed and glanced at the x-rays, "I won't really know until I can get a better look at him, but there are multiple fractures on his legs and hands. They're all peri-mortem, and non-fatal. If I had to guess? Oxygen deprivation from the cave-in. There was a cave-in, correct?"

Elizabeth smiled, "You know your history, Doc. Elizabeth that, or you got my subtle clue from earlier." She switched off the machine and looked into the clear canister thoughtfully. To the naked eye, it just looked like dirt, but she knew it was more than that.

"Slumber party guests? How could I miss that?" He smiled, before picking up a surgical saw to get to work on the interesting autopsy.

She had stepped aside now with the vacuum canister, getting out of the way effectively so the friendly coroner could do his job. Liz muttered something about taking it to trace before walking out of the room and down the hall towards the elevator. Just before she could push the button, the familiar tones of "Carry on My Wayward Son" echoed down the polished hallway. Elizabeth reached to answer the phone with a free hand, "'Ello Sammy-boy. What's your twenty?"

"It's Sam," he snapped, pausing to take a breath, "Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old." Although she couldn't see him, Liz bet he had just rolled his hazel eyes at her. "We're in Vegas now, and should be at the mine in, say, twenty minutes."

Liz nodded at her phone and stole a quick glance at her slightly scratched up Timex sports watch, "Alright. I've got to drop something off, and then I'll meet ya'll there." Smiling again, she quickly hung up the phone and went up the elevator to drop off the canister before heading out to meet them.


	5. Exploring

**Chapter Five: Exploring**

The shorter, older brother leaned on the hood of a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, his leather-clad arms crossed over his chest. Crime scene tape was right in front of the car, and Dean didn't want to blow whatever cover Lizzy had worked out for them. "She's taking too long," he sighed impatiently, stealing another thoughtful glance at his watch.

"Dude, we've been here five minutes, give her a little more time," Sam shrugged, pretending he wasn't worried about the normally punctual redhead, only to be betrayed by his overly emotional hazel eyes.

Before Dean could say anything else, a car started to pull up alongside theirs and a door opened smoothly. "Sam! Dean! So great to see you again," Liz's cheerful voice greeted them. It was clear she wanted nothing more than to hug them, but that would just be really weird - especially right now.

The previously silent, short patrolman approached the trio and spoke to Elizabeth directly in a surprisingly deep voice, "Dr. Tucker, who are these men? Do you want me to get rid of them for you?"

She laughed and shook her head, a strand of hair coming loose, "No, Isaac, they're my friends from college. I'm going to take them into the mine because they know a little something about them. Do you mind if we hang out in there for a while – just the three of us?"

Isaac sighed and visibly relaxed, "No problem, ma'am. I could use a break anyway. Call if you need something." With that, he walked away to his patrol car and started to drive off. Dean and Sam finally were able to laugh at the whole exchange. Well, with Sam it was more muffled snickering.

Liz just shook her head at them. Sure, it had been a while since they had heard her called Dr. Tucker, but still. They didn't have to poke fun. Ignoring them, she moved toward the trunk of her car as the brothers moved towards the black trunk of the Impala. It was time to gear up.

- Later, in the mine –

Several soft, slow footsteps and metallic hums echoed quietly through the long tunnels of the forgotten mine. Three figures of varied heights stood behind a powerful flashlight held by one of their number. Another of them held in their hand the small, black device that kept humming and clicking almost continuously. As the flashlight reflected off of flecks in the walls, it revealed the three friends from earlier, and each was carrying a shot gun loaded not with buck shot, but rather rock salt.

The one holding the device was looking from the small screen to the area ahead. A disgruntled sigh came from him as he asked, "Are you two psychics sure about this? Everything's pretty quiet."

"I know what I felt, Dean," Elizabeth huffed, as if hurt that he'd question her. He wanted to be on another hunt desperately, and they all knew it.

Now, though, was one of the spooky moments where you rush in, not really knowing what you're up against; you just hope you get it before it gets you. It was at times like this that even the best hunters are tested. When the adrenaline from the excitement of the hunt mixes with the worry and dread of not really knowing what was out there. It is always one of the most dangerous times. When you don't need bystanders.

A sound behind them made Dean and Sam spin and aim their weapons. Elizabeth, however, seemed unsure. The mysterious foot steps were catching up to their location and Liz had to quickly jump in front of the brothers. It was a human, not a creature, because she didn't sense anything from it.

Shaggy blonde and brown spikes appeared atop the surprised face in the beam of the flashlight and Liz lightly cursed under her breath, "Shit, Greg. We're in the middle of something." It had to be him, of course. As soon as Dr. Robbins said something about the enthusiastic Greg Sanders mentioning her, she knew.

Greg shrugged and kept his eyes on the mysterious guys who were still pointing weapons at him. A week of being back on the job and mysterious guys with weapons still bothered him. "Lizzy, I saw a car I didn't recognize, and I thought I'd make sure you were alright," he still had his hands up in surrender.

"Lizzy?" Dean asked, raising his brows but lowering his weapon and motioning for Sam to do the same. The older brother knew that anyone close enough to Elizabeth to call her Lizzy couldn't be all that bad. Neither would they deserve shooting unless it was done by her.

"I'm being rude," Liz blushed as Greg put his hands down and let go a sigh of relief, "CSI Greg Sanders, these are my friends from college, Sam and Dean Halen. They're helping me examine the mine." Dean was probably holding back a smile and Sam a snort. Anyone could tell she was lying about their last name. Come on, Van Halen, just chop off the Van. But, Greg seemed to accept it at face value.

"Nice to meet you," Greg smiled and nodded, "I guess I'll get out of your way and secure the entrance." With that, the scrawny ex-lab rat disappeared back outside and the trio was left alone again.

---

A little while later, the trio had continued down their path and come to a fork in the tunnel. Two paths and three people? Sam and Dean normally pair up immediately, or Sam would go with the extra people they had along and try to escape. As they stood there, considering, Elizabeth's brown eyes lit up suddenly and stared down the darkened tunnel to the right. Without so much as another word, she took off in that direction, seemingly not caring if they followed. Sam looked to Dean and shrugged, taking off after her. Shortly there after, Dean sighed heavily and jogged slightly to catch up.

In the end, the trio stuck together, with Elizabeth in the lead. It was as if she was a blood hound on the trail of something huge or important. The soft hums and occasional clicks of the EMF meter increased to an almost constant whine, indicating the presence of something supernatural. The brothers readied their weapons, but Liz remained uncharacteristically lax. There was something familiar about her strange feeling; as if she somehow knew whatever it was out there in the dark. Wasn't this supposed to be full of mud? Maybe the spirits had somehow cleaned it out.

A faint figure of a man flickered before them right before the flashlight died. By the time Dean pulled out his lighter and struck it, Elizabeth was gone. Her gun was on the ground where she had just been.

"Lizzy!?" Dean called out down the old tunnel in a panic. What had happened? Obviously whatever had flashed before them had her now, but the real question was what it was … or who.


End file.
